


A Dozen Roses

by fabricdragon



Series: Soulmates [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Cultural Differences, Gen, Homophobia, Inkmates, M/M, Multiple Relationships, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Politics, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:42:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22698625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Mycroft Holmes knows that in his position, a soulmate is a risk, a lever, a hostage...and he was born with twelve of them.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Original Character, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Sherlock Holmes & The Violin
Series: Soulmates [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632634
Comments: 64
Kudos: 67
Collections: Mystrade Soulmates Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vulpesmellifera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulpesmellifera/gifts), [Mottlemoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/gifts), [InnerSpectrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/gifts).

Mycroft stared at the soulmate marks on his body with something akin to despair. 

Everyone had a soulmate mark of some kind, of course… well, truthfully no, a small minority never developed a soulmate mark, it being believed that their only soulmate died before they were old enough to develop. Romantic fiction often depicted people with only one soulmate, and one mark, the truth was that most people had one clearer mark and one or two that were faint… and those developed more fully if they met and made an effort at developing a relationship. 

Most people never met their soulmate in any case, although there were a frightening array of matchmaking sites that attempted it based on the soulmate marks. You only knew for certain that you had met your soulmate when you touched bare skin to bare skin. Every culture in the world had greeting rituals designed to permit skin to meet skin while you were unattached… or avoid it once you were already partnered.

There were tragedies - and a few comedies- written about soulmates meeting after one or both were married to another.

People speculated over the meaning of the soulmate marks- what they said about the one marked, or about their soulmate. Sherlock’s first mark had come in clearly and distinctly as a violin: his first love, the only love that would stand by him and stay with him through everything… even if it wasn’t enough to keep him from the drugs. Mycroft supposed he should be grateful that none of Sherlock’s marks looked like anything drug related, but it just proved that a soulmate wasn't the answer to everything. Sherlock had two, or possibly three soulmarks- one of them could just have been a birthmark- and only the violin was clear.

Sherlock didn't have words, of course: but Mycroft did.

Soulmate marks that were words, instead of shapes or images were rare- the last study he’d read had said it was at best one in five but more likely fewer than that- and no one in the Holmes or Vernet family had had words in generations, until Mycroft. When someone had words it caused endless speculation as to their meaning- even more than the speculation over the usual images and marks. The speculation was often made worse because of those few people who did have words they were most usually blurred and hard to read- making them subject to fanciful interpretations.

Mycroft’s soulmate words were clear and easy to read: embarrassingly so.

Sherlock had, at most, three soulmarks. When Mycroft had finally gotten the level of clearance he held now he had looked into the research and records of soulmark numbers: two was the most common, followed by three, and then one. Most people outside of the nobility hadn’t had their soulmarks recorded unless they used a matchmaker- or in modern times a matchmaking service- but the typical person had two or three soulmarks of varying clarity: those who had words instead of marks ranged in number more widely… but still, he had never met or heard of anyone else currently living with more than three soulmate marks on their body.

Mycroft had an even dozen.

A dozen clear easy to read words in various places on his body, indelible and at least a few in places that could be read easily in less than full coverage clothing. If Mycroft wore anything less than long pants and long sleeves, at least one of his words would show. Given the rarity of words people invariably asked him about them, so Mycroft did his best to never let them be seen.

With their unusual clarity he had been able to pass them off as tattoos to the less observant, but they were so VERY at odds with his demeanor that the first question about his ‘tattoos’ was usually, “whyever did you get THAT?” because they were words that might have been spoken in passion, perhaps, but certainly nothing that Mycroft Holmes would have gotten as a tattoo! Most of them were sweet- perplexingly sweet for someone that was called the Iceman for a reason- and a few were… vaguely insulting- although said by someone who loved you they could be endearing, he supposed- and one or two were… well just odd.

He supposed ‘Posh boy’ was accurate, but it still seemed odd.

When the words had started fading into existence- well when the first one did- he had been so excited: he was going to have a word! He studied the slowly darkening letters with frustration trying to make sense of it… and then overnight the first one settled and clarified into ‘My’. The next word resolved itself into ‘Darlin’ a few months later. Even at his young age Mycroft couldn't picture himself calling anyone that, or being called that: It was frustrating.

Sherlock identified the word ‘Cupcake’ before anyone else had been able to decipher it. The family, and Mycroft, insisted he was mistaken, but within a few more days it became obvious that ‘cupcake’ was indeed the new word. This, of course, led to a lifetime of Sherlock teasing him that his ‘first love’ was cake. Mycroft tried pointing out that it wasn’t the first soulmark- and that most people believed word soulmarks were terms of endearment used for, or by, your soulmate- but Sherlock remained utterly convinced that Mycroft’s soulmate was cake. When he’d finally understood that Sherlock’s soulmate was the violin itself, not a violinist, it made much more sense: of course he assumed that Mycroft’s soulmate was like his own.

…

In the intervening years Mycroft had felt, and seen, two of his soulmarks fade to the ashy grey of death.

He’d never met them, and now he never would.

Some days that was a comfort.

...

And here Mycroft stood, dressing for his brother’s funeral- only his supposed funeral thankfully- and the only soulmate mark he could be certain of, was the very first:

‘My’   
The name he was called by family when they didn't bother to get his full name out.

Most especially the name his baby brother used for him until he was quite grown, and even now used when he was ill, or too tired- or high on drugs… 

He hadn't realized his brother was his first soulmate until much later when someone tried to describe what the bond felt like for a non-romantic bond- he’d been listening to a sociology lecture on platonic and romantic bonds- and he realized that his first soulmate was Sherlock. His brother had always come first in his heart, always, and he’d known that anyone else he found would have to understand that.

They never had.

Of course since most people assumed a sexual component to a soulmate- a romantic one at least- he learned to keep his connection to Sherlock quiet early on. Once he began working in the SIS, of course, there was the added complication that a soulmate was leverage. 

If he lost Sherlock it would break his heart.

It had hurt when two of his potential soulmates- soulmates he had never met- had died: Mycroft wasn't certain he would survive it if Sherlock died. To this day Sherlock probably couldn’t understand how Mycroft had found him every time… in time to get him to help- in time to save him.

One of Sherlock’s secondary marks might have been Mycroft, but he never worked to develop it. Mycroft sadly acknowledged that if he died…  _ If I died my other soulmates would likely be more affected than Sherlock. _

He forced his mind back to his duty and the current situation. Better a fake funeral than however many real ones.

Mycroft slowly pulled on his clothes, covering every mark… knowing that no one he had ever touched with his bare skin- except his brother- was connected with the words.

And knowing that he couldn't afford to touch bare skin to anyone who wasn't cleared to the very highest levels of security.

Not with nine other potential soulmates still out there in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmates were often called mirrors, or spirit mirror, or spirit twin...from the belief that God or Fate had created your twin, your other half, your fated one...

_ Maybe Sherlock was right and one of my soulmates was cake. _

Mycroft stared glumly at the remains of a truly exquisite confection, that sadly tasted about like cardboard to him right now. It was a sad day when a triple chocolate torte didn't give him any comfort.

He rubbed his chest through his vest and shirt, as though he could feel the solid comfort of Sherlock’s soulmark there- over his heart of course. Sherlock was off hunting down Moriarty’s accursed network- as well as doing some obligatory favors for MI6- and there was very little Mycroft could do to protect him that he had not already done.

He sighed and touched the intercom. “Is there anything else that has come up that requires me to deal with it immediately?”

“No, sir.”

“Then i shall see you in the morning.” he shut everything down and went out. His driver, Junayd, hesitated as he opened the door for him. “Sir?”

“Yes?” Mycroft startled somewhat; Junayd was a new driver and not given to casual conversation.

“Forgive me for being rude, but… you had stopped at the same pastry shop several times…”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, he couldn't POSSIBLY be forward and foolish enough to comment on his weight? “And?”

“My Aunt has a small tea shop…” he swallowed and ducked his head, “While it is a family shop, it is very good and I thought you might wish to try it sometime.”

Mycroft considered the lack of satisfaction in his chocolate torte. _ I shouldn't… _ He squared his shoulders, “Obviously I shall have to alert security: what is the address?”

Junyad smiled in a surprised fashion and handed him a card…

Mycroft fought to keep from drooling at the listed confections.

…

Once he managed to convince Junyad’s family to stop… fussing at him… it turned into a regular stop. Baklava, Jallab, Limonana, proper Turkish delight, Sahlab, and the most delicious arrays of teas and coffees… Mycroft could almost forget work for a short time.

He was relaxing after one of the more difficult meetings when one of Junayd’s innumerable cousins stopped by his table. 

“My cousin is visiting and has made some Kunafah: would you care for some?”

Mycroft had never had it, although he certainly knew what it was, and was quite willing to try it. “Everything here is quite tasty, thank you: i would be delighted.”

The man who came out after a while was a bit darker of skin than most of the family, and a bit shorter than Junyad, but he had the family’s bright, wide, smile.

“My family speaks highly of you!” he said with a laugh, “and they must like you a lot to ask me to give you some of the Kunafah!”

Mycroft found himself smiling a bit, “Junayd was very kind to introduce me to this place at all!”

The man handed down the plate…

And their fingers brushed.

Mycroft controlled the gasp that followed the shock of soulmates meeting… barely. The man stumbled and the plate clattered to the table and he fell onto the seat next to Mycroft.

“Mara…” he breathed and then a look of dismay crossed his face.

Mara was one of his words… he hadn't thought of it being Arabic! Mycroft cursed the foolishness of simply thinking of it as an odd pet form of Mycroft: Mirror, of course…an unusual term for a soulmate but not unheard of… and they were both men, and the culture… and security… _ Oh God... _

“taw'um alruwh,” Mycroft said quietly, and then forced a more normal tone, “At least nothing spilled! My apologies…”

“Ah, no… my apologies!” he stood up slowly.

Mycroft gestured at him to stay, “So tell me about this dessert, please?”

He stumbled over a bit of it, but it permitted enough time for Mycroft to quietly slip him his card with the private phone number.

His soulmate- he didn't even know the man’s name!- excused himself quickly to go back to the kitchen. Mycroft forced himself to simply eat the dessert- which was excellent- as he normally would. 

Eventually he left. As casually as he could he asked Junayd what his cousins name was, “The one who made the Kunafah?”

“Oh! Sabri. Technically he is my cousin in law: he is married to a cousin of mine.”

And married… Mycroft could only picture the nightmare of him being revealed to have a white, Christian, MALE, soulmate. “Will he be making that a regular dish? It’s quite good.”

“Oh I doubt it: it takes hours to make.”

Mycroft didn't dare ask him anything else and tried to keep up a neutral face on the way home.

It was several days before they managed to contact each other. Sabri was distraught- understanding that a soulmate mark with another man of his own culture might, just MIGHT, be acceptable in a platonic way, but with Mycroft?

Not only was there the impossible situation of their gender and the rampant homophobia of his home culture, there was his marriage, and their difference of faith, and then as the final nail in that coffin there was the fact that he was his cousin by marriage’s employer.

They both felt the pull of a soulmate bond.

BOTH knew it could be very far from platonic.

Both knew it was a death sentence, even before Mycroft hinted delicately at his own security status.

Fortunately Sabri was an intelligent and sensible man and understood when Mycroft explained what HAD to be done:

They could not see each other again in private until at least Mycroft’s retirement- if ever, but Mycorft would ensure that his immigration to England and citizenship status was secured, and that his family was protected from extraordinary threat…

And if they both lived long enough to see the day that Mycroft retired, and Sabri was an established patriarch who could meet with some other old man without much suspicion? Then… they would see.

“I hope you understand, Mara, that… I will avoid you as much as i am able,” he smiled sadly and drew a hand over Mycroft’s cheek, “You are too much of a temptation.”

Mycroft caught his hand and held it for a moment before letting go, “And you are very beautiful, taw'um alruwh, and also too much of a temptation.”

“The devil laughs at men’s protestations of virtue,” he muttered and then stood up abruptly. “I MUST go, or I will do things I will not regret, but that would… make this more difficult.”

Mycroft saw him off and allowed himself five minutes to fall apart quietly in his shower. Tomorrow he would begin the needed paperwork to ensure his soulmate was safe…

He stepped out of the shower and wiped away the steam on the mirror, looking at the words written on his skin

Mia Cara and Cinnamon, both the ashy grey of death.

My, and now Mara, the deep black of an active soul bond- someone touched skin to skin, heart to heart, soul to soul…

And eight others… 

He didn't understand how someone like himself who truthfully could have been content without a soulmate, had so many... not for the first time he wished he could gift a soul mark to one of the poor unfortunates who so desired one.

They were such peculiar words as well, some of them- at least Darlin made sense- but Sassenach? BUNNY?! And Bodach…. How could any of those…

Some days he wanted to meet his soulmates just to find out what the HELL possessed anyone to associate him with rabbits…

Mycroft sighed and turned away from his contemplation: caring is not an advantage… and neither are soulmates. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mara basically means mirror  
taw'um alruwh means twin spirit  
(bear in mind that i am not fluent in any other language)
> 
> Mia Cara means "my darling" more or less and is used by a lot of non Italian speakers because it is said by Gomez Addams to Morticia Addams...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a chance meeting...at a meeting

Cupcake, one of the earlier words to appear, was fading to grey- again. Mycroft sat in yet another political meeting in Belgium and forced soulmates and speculation from his mind: right now he needed to focus on what the Russians were about, not whether his soulmate was chronically ill or just in a dangerous occupation.

It was during the painful tedium of “social breaks” or “coffee”- during which everyone jockeyed for information or at least tried not to start a war- that he noticed when two people brushed hands while reaching for the same item on the coffee tray: Mycroft didn't think anyone else noticed the shocked look on his face, or the dismayed one on hers, before they schooled their features. 

_ Soulmates.  _

Mycroft quickly went over his mental dossiers on both parties: he was a supposed mid level bureaucrat and actually a well placed spy- like most of them- and she was officially a secretary and actually a trained bodyguard and assassin like Anthea. Complicating matters was the fact that both were from nations that were not allies with Britain- he being from North Korea and she being from one of the former Soviet states...her actual political alliances unknown to him at the moment although she was suspected of leaning toward Russia.

Mycroft quickly wrote out an offer of assistance- along with his statement that he didn't THINK anyone else had noticed- and slipped the notes into his pocket and her hand…

Carefully.

He was down right paranoid about the possibility of accidental contact for the rest of the day.

When he got back to his rooms he contemplated ‘cupcake’, which was too dark to be dead, but most definitely too close to the pale ash of a deceased unmet soulmate…

Once again he was nearly ill at the thought: what if one of his soulmates was an enemy of Britain? It would be one thing if he could bring them to his side, of course- many questionable soulmates had been forgiven in exchange for valuable intelligence assets or political coups, but if not?

He rubbed the soulmark and was torn between hoping they recovered- whatever might be wrong- and finding it remarkably simpler if one more- or many more- of his soulmates died unmet.

…

By the time Mycroft made it home, the two soulmates had been convinced to abscond to Britain- a triumph for Mycroft politically- Sherlock had taken down a major thorn in his side that had been part of Moriarty’s network, and ‘Cupcake’ was teetering on the edge of death: Mycroft could only imagine that he was in intensive care.

It was as he was scrubbing the stink of airplanes, hotels, and people off of his skin that he felt a prickle like a limb recovering circulation…

_ ‘Cupcake’ was darker? _

By the next morning the word was clear enough to read again, if not exactly returned to its former dark grey…

Mycroft knew this was a complication, but nonetheless he felt relieved…

Even if he still held a grudge against that unknown soulmate for all the teasing “cupcake” had caused him.

…

When he got into work the next morning Anthea was waiting with his briefings as expected, but… she looked...rather as though she was up to something or had a secret.

“DO just let me know what it is, rather than waiting until i am done with all this paperwork.” Mycroft folded his hands on the desk and looked patiently at her.

“I don’t expect I am being subtle, sir.”

“Not to me, certainly.”

“I met my soulmate.”

_ Oh dear _ . “Ah...one hopes they will pass a security clearance and… you are going to want time off?”

“We will both need some time off to get properly acquainted,” Anthea said drily, “Although given both of our schedules that may not be able to happen. As to the other question; fortunately YES, sir: She is M’s assistant, Eve Moneypenny.”

Mycroft blinked at a recollection of… a former double O candidate transferred to personal security and assistant. “Ah! Oh an excellent result, Anthea.” he nodded approvingly- as if she had any choice in the matter. 

“Indeed sir, i am most fortunate- as is she: can you imagine either of us with a soulmate that didn't pass security clearances?” she shuddered faintly and then gave him a faintly sympathetic look- she had, after all, assisted in getting Sabri and his wife settled in England

Mycroft nodded: he would likely never see Sabri again- unless they happened to cross paths because of his family- and once again worried about the other soulmates out there.

“I… “ Anthea closed her mouth and looked thoughtfully at him, “Any change?”

He had informed her, of course, as to the changing condition of “cupcake”- she had to be able to identify his body, after all.

“Yes… he appears to be rallying? Recovering in any event.”

“I’m glad sir.”

“I do not know whether to be pleased or not, frankly,” Mycroft admitted, “I find myself pleased to some extent, although it would be simpler if…” 

Anthea smiled sadly and gently touched his hand- they had tested the possibility of soulmates as soon as she was assigned to him, and was thus one of the few people- along with his long time doctors- who could touch bare skin with safety: Mycroft hated to admit how much having someone touch him was a comfort. 

“Simpler, perhaps, Sir... but I hope that you will find at least one soulmate of suitable security clearance,” She smirked, “You have an unprecedented number of chances.”

“Sadly an unprecedented number of chances for it to go wrong- as we saw in Belgium.”

“Sir i have the utmost faith in you: if you were to encounter a soulmate who worked for any other government they would undoubtedly be an asset to Britain in no time.” she nodded firmly and went out.

Mycroft went back to work. Several situations were beyond disasters- apparently in his absence Crescent and Porlock had both cocked up critical missions- and they had lost not only the objectives, but in several cases valuable agents, Vajra among them- a devastating loss.

In other matters that needed attending to, Lady Smallwood had finally been promoted into Ultra Clearance and needed to be brought up to speed on the additions to her duties: luckily Norbury would manage most of that. He couldn't help but snort at her codename: Love. Mycroft idly wondered if it was from her past work in the field, her prize winning roses, or some humorous attempt at both?

He scheduled a personal meeting to bring her up to speed on matters involving his brother and details of the clean up of Moriarty’s network.

By the time he had caught up on his own work, sorted out the messes Crescent and Porlock had created- and sworn he was never attending another meeting out of the country- and brought Love up to speed on matters, ‘cupcake’ was apparently well on the way to recovery.

Now to sort out the security on the royals’ upcoming charity tours…

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Yes, "Mia Cara" would be feminine, and therefore a peculiar way to address a man (like Mycroft). Many people use terms of endearment from movies and that they have heard, without always understanding the language. While it doesn't "matter" since the soulmate died before they met? in my mind the soulmate was a big Addams family fan, and thought of their soulmate as the Morticia to their Gomez...


End file.
